The best of his life
by Givemeahappyending
Summary: A murder, a kidnapping, and Draco who lost his memory...
1. Chapter 1

**The best of his life**

**Disclaimer: **I would be thrilled to have my dear Draco in my possession, but unfortunately, J. K. Rowling owns everything.

**Summary: **A murder, a kidnapping, and a Draco who lost his memory...

A billion thanks to my lovely beta Blissfulnightmare , the piece wouldn't be done without you!

**Chapter 1**

Life is such a bitch!

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes, and could have sworn that an elephant had stepped on his head. He blinked a few times, feeling a bit lost, as he having no idea where he was. Looking around, he noticed that the entire room was disturbingly white. There was also this smell that gave him the urge to rush to the toilet. Even with his splitting headache, Draco realized that he was in the hospital.

'_What the bloody hell...?'_ Draco tried, but found no sound coming from his mouth. He tried again, and a strangled "Ah..." managed to choke its way out."

"Ah! You're finally awake!" A shout full of joy suddenly filled the room, making Draco jump, and would have fallen off the bed if his body hadn't been temporarily immobile. A nurse appeared at the door, a huge smile on her face. "Your beauty sleep was incredibly long!" said the woman teasingly. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, quite pretty for her age if Draco had to say.

'_What happened to me?'_ Draco tried to ask, with little success. But the nurse seemed to catch his question anyway.

"You, sunshine, had quite the nasty gunshot wound," she said, shaking her head. "You were very lucky though, the bullet only brushed past your head. Otherwise, we would all be attending your funeral right now."

Draco stared at her, shocked, and even more lost. A gunshot wound? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"You have been in a coma for three days." the nurse continued, "The doctor was worried that there might be some permanent damage to your head, but now you're awake and appearing sane to me. So I guess you will be fine." She checked all the God-knew-what machines around Draco and then smiled in satisfaction.

"Here, drink some water. I'll go and get the doctor for you."

Draco nodded, still in shock, and had the horrible feeling that his brain was completely out of function.

After a glass of water and some coughing, Draco finally got his voice back. Though it was a bit hoarse, and his throat was sore, he was extremely relieved that he could still speak.

A few moments later, a man, whom he presumed to be the doctor, came in. "Hello, young man!" he said brightly. He then ran a few tests on him, to which Draco wasn't familiar with, and seemed pleased with his findings.

"Very well!" He beamed. "You will be as good as new in no time, Mr. … I'm sorry, but what is your name?" inquired the doctor.

"I..." Draco blinked, but nothing popped in his mind. "I...I don't know..." he said shakily, panicked. His hand fumbled on the bed frantically, desperately searching for something, but what, he did not know.

The doctor's face grew concerned. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I..." Draco frowned, trying to recall any useful information within the cloudy expanse of his mind. But there appeared to be nothing, as if his life had never happened. "I don't remember anything!" His heart was beating so rapidly that Draco feared it would jump out of his mouth.

"Okay. Relax. Take a deep breath." the doctor comforted. "Do you know where you are?" he asked.

"In a hospital."

"What year is it now?"

"2000, I think."

"400 plus 1350 is how many?"

"1750."

The doctor seemed to contemplate. "You still have the fundamental knowledge. It might just be the shock." he concluded.

"Will I regain my memory?" Draco asked nervously.

"I'm afraid that I don't know, son," the doctor said sadly. "It's different with every individual. You might regain your memory in a few days, months, or maybe even years. Or, there's also a possibility that it may never return."

"What?" Draco screamed in his hoarse voice. "But...but what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? And...and there might be people worried about me!"

"Don't worry, son." the doctor said kindly. "The police will help you get your identity back. Trust me, they are very experienced."

Draco's eyes widened. "Don't worry?" He repeated incredulously, thinking maybe not only his head, but his ears had also failed him. "Here I am, in a bloody hospital, injured by a gunshot - like that means anything, and oh, have no idea who I am! And you're telling me not to worry? Bravo!" he said sarcastically.

The doctor looked at him sternly. "I know you are feeling mentally unstable right now," said him calmly. "But that is just life, and there is no need to be rude."

But that is just life? What kind of insane hospital is this? Draco opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, a man in black burst into the room and shouted. "Is he awake? Great!"

The doctor stood up so swiftly it surprised Draco. He walked in front of the man and snorted, strangely reminded Draco of someone. "How many times do I have to tell you, detective? No shouting. This is a hospital. And my patient here needs his rest."

"Oh for God's sake!" the detective exclaimed. "Come on doc, he is the witness of a murder! You can't expect me to sit around and wait."

"Well... It seems that you may have to do exactly that," The doctor answered without any expression," because he's lost his memory."

Harry Potter was having a bad day. He hit his head when he got up, slipped in the bath, and broke 3 plates during breakfast. After a 45 minutes' musing while sitting on the sofa, Harry decided to take a day off and stay at home.

He strode to the fireplace and was about to call Hermione, when green flames suddenly rose. The head of Hermione appeared within the fire and said, "Harry, we've got a problem."

Harry was speechless.

15 minutes later found Harry sitting in his office, coffee mug in his hands with Hermione on the other side of the table, and felt like his day just couldn't get any worse.

"So...," he concluded, "You are saying that after a month of missing, Malfoy was found in muggle London, at the crime scene beside a dead muggle, and he can't remember a thing?"

"Yes." said Hermione.

"Okay," said Harry slowly, thinking. "Can't we just get his memory back using, you know, magic?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not like he'd been Obliviated, and his brain is actually completely intact."

"Then why?" asked Harry in confusion.

"The doctor thought it might just be the shock, but no one knows whether he will regain his memory or not."

Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. "Great! We have no leads on who kidnapped him and where he went, and now Malfoy just happened to lose his bloody memory until Merlin knows when! Fantastic!"

"Harry." said Hermione reproachfully, "We should consider ourselves lucky. At least he's still alive, with no serious injuries it seems. And he hadn't lost his mind."

"Yes, I know." Harry sighed. He dragged a hand through unruly locks in tired frustration. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Hermione smiled softly. "He is in a hospital in London now. We need to get him back."

Harry nodded. "But how? We can't tell him the truth with him as he is. It would be too much for his fragile condition."

"Fragile condition?" Hermione raised her eyebrow. "I'm not so sure 'fragile' is the perfect word for him, but you've got a point. We can't just tell him that he's a wizard and was kidnapped a month ago. It won't help recover his memory."

"So what's the plan?" asked Harry, knowing full well that his brilliant friend always had a strategy.

Hermione winked at him. "I'd say you're going undercover, Harry."

Draco eyed the detective as if he were crazy. He felt very overwhelmed and suddenly thought that being in a coma might not be such a bad idea. "What did you just say?" he asked faintly. "A man was killed, just beside me, by gunshot as well?"

"Yes." answered the detective, whose name appeared to be Sam. He was a strong man in his 30s, had brown hair, and eyes so green that it made Draco a little uneasy, yet strangely reassured at the same time. "And you are the only witness. We were hoping that you could help us find the killer."

"But how?" said Draco tiredly, "I don't remember anything. And someone please tell me what the hell is gunshot!"

Sam paused, apparently taken aback. "You don't know what a gunshot is?" He asked amazingly.

"That's why I'm asking!" Draco shouted, annoyed. He hated all of it. The way they treated him like he was some kind of strange person, like a child that always made the parents disappointed, like he was not... someone he was supposed to be.

He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, detective. I'm not feeling very well."

"It's okay." The doctor comforted him sympathetically, hand touching his arm. "It is a lot to handle. I am sure the detective understands. Now rest, son. You need it." He then turned around and said to the detective coolly, "I think you should leave now."

Sam sighed in resignation, "All right. I will be back tomorrow." He nodded to the doctor, who escorted him out of the room.

Once the door was closed, Sam demanded immediately, "I thought you said he still had his knowledge. How could someone not know what a gunshot is?"

"It is rather unusual." The doctor contemplated. "His mental state may be more severe than I had anticipated. The shock might have been too much for him, to where his brain felt the need to wipe out all things pertaining to the incident in order to protect him."

"Protect him from what?" queried Sam.

The doctor shrugged. "Too many possibilities; I really can't tell."

"Then does that mean he will be less likely to recover his memory soon?"

"Maybe."

Sam restrained the sudden impulse to smack his head on the wall. "Life is so unfair!" He murmured. "We took his finger print already and we have yet to find a match. And there isn't a missing person that fits his profile!"

"At least we know he doesn't have a criminal record." offered the doctor calmly.

"Yeah." Sam's voice was very dry. He definitely needed a large, steaming cup of coffee. Black, and without sugar. "Very helpful doc."

The doctor chuckled. "Come on Sam, I know you. You can handle it."

His laugh seemed to affect the detective, as the latter smiled and slowly began to relax. "Yeah, I know. It's just..." He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "The victim's uncle is the CEO of the Empire Hotel, who called the police commissioner, who called my supervisor, who called me, since -and I quote- 'I'm their best.' The man is considerably upset for his nephew's death. So you can imagine."

"Ah, I see." The doctor drawled mock sympathy. "Good luck then."

Sam sighed, and looked at his watch. "Look, I need to get back to the office. Let me know if there is any change." Straightening to take his leave, his eyes softened. "Take care of him, Dean."

"I will."

Draco lay on his bed, doing what he could to fall asleep, and failing miserably. He looked around the room, from the weird machines near him to the black box in the corner, and couldn't help but feel out of place.

Remembered or not, he shouldn't feel this way, should he? It wasn't as if his memories had disappeared. They were just buried. His body should know!

Draco clenched his fists angrily, and then frowned, suddenly realizing something. He stretched his right hand in front of him, examining it carefully.

There was a thin layer of callus in his palm.

Draco squinted. He was not sure what kind of profession would cause this. A chef, maybe? But judging by the layout of the callus, the thing he was supposed to hold should be thinner than a knife handle.

Actually, come to think about it, it might not be a profession at all. The sense of loss was almost instinctual. He felt...unsafe without it.

Draco was intrigued. He got out of the bed, and went to the small bathroom inside his room. His reflection stared at him in the mirror, giving him an arrogant look. His face seemed unfamiliar. He had light blond hair and rare grey eyes. His skin was so pale, as if he had never been outdoors before. He was tall and slender, but well-muscled. And even in his condition, he had such grace that one could only get from years of training.

"Who are you?" Draco whispered, looking into the eyes of his reflection. His pupil widened, and melt into nearly silver, like the wind before a storm.

"Who am I?"


	2. Chapter 2

The Best of His Life

Disclaimer: I would be thrilled to have my dear Draco in my possession. But unfortunately, JK Rowling owns everything.

A billion thanks to my lovely beta Blissfulnightmare , the piece wouldn't be done without you!

Chapter 2

Harry Potter didn't like Draco Malfoy. He never did, and supposedly never would. He didn't hate him though, but years of torment definitely did something. He couldn't just say it was water under the bridge and forget about everything, like Hermione did, yet he couldn't continue seeing him as an enemy, as Ron did, either. Draco was...just Draco. A Malfoy and a cunning Slytherin- at least that was how Harry preferred to see him.

But he did indeed respect him for his contribution to the war, no matter what his motivation was.

There were so many people wounded by the war, and Draco was no exception. Fortunately, he was not among those who were broken; he was strong, and for that Harry was very grateful.

During their sixth year, Draco's parents were killed by Voldemort. Butchered actually, for their bodies were barely recognizable. When the news reached the school, Harry couldn't help but empathize for the other boy. In fact, he of all people could understand what he was going through. If there was anything he knew about Draco, it was that he loved his parents, no matter how much of a bastard Lucius was.

Harry still remembered that tragic morning. Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table amongst his friends, chatting amiably. Then the Daily Prophet came swooping in by owl, with his parents' mutilated bodies covering the front page. Gasps immediately filled the air. Everyone's gaze shifted to Draco, who lost all the blood in his face, his lips trembling. He seemed very calm though, given the situation. There wasn't any crying, or shouting, or drama- his expression had become deadpan, unreadable. He then stood up in silence, and left the hall in the heavy wake of countless scrutinizing eyes. Snape attempted to reach him, but the distressed blond recoiled and stormed out of sight.

After that, no one saw him for an entire week. There were even rumors stating that he'd dropped out of school. Until one day, he finally showed up at breakfast, alone, and requesting for the headmaster.

Harry noticed him the second he walked into the hall. It was almost as if he were subconsciously waiting for him, though he would never admit that. Looking at him, he could tell that the blond had lost a lot of weight. His already slender form had become gauntly, left with only skin and bones. His eyes, however, shone brightly, making his face appear more alive than usual. When he left with Dumbledore, Harry released a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and felt relieved for the first time in a week.

The war was soon declared. Despite everyone's reluctance, Draco moved into Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place with them. He turned out to be a huge asset to the light side, to the Order's surprise. His knowledge of potions and the dark arts, as well as his cunning mind, saved numerous people in the war, including Harry himself.

He was very distant though, and quiet. Even while living in the same house, he hardly exchanged a word with the others except for when it came to work, and mostly remained silent even when Ron would deliberately provok him. Harry often saw him sitting near the window, holding a picture of his family and staring out for hours during the short peace between battles.

Harry felt sorry for him, like he did for all the people wounded during the war. But Draco was different. He knew what kind of person the blond was, yet he had changed so much that Harry sometimes thought the boy he despised was only a figment of his imagination. He was concerned for him, because he knew, he just knew, that the only thing keeping the blond alive was revenge. When the war was over, he was almost afraid that Draco might commit suicide; he didn't. Instead, tears streamed silently down his face as he looked upon Voldemort's lifeless body, the first tears Harry had ever seen him shed. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, those tears should have come out a long time ago.

He was glad that Draco had finally moved on.

Or maybe he hadn't. Now sitting behind his table, Harry mused. Draco lived alone in his ridiculously huge Malfoy Manor after the war. He didn't work - though truth be told, he didn't really need to. But he barely had social life. Harry had thought about visiting him from time to time, but was incapable of finding a good enough excuse to convince himself to go. He blamed himself for that. If he had, he might have been able to stop whoever kidnapped Draco. In fact, if not for Draco's house elf coming to the Ministry and reporting that he hadn't come home for two days, Harry wasn't so sure they'd have noticed his absence at all.

'There is no time for regretting,' Harry said to himself. 'We found him after all.'

He stood up, checking his watch. It was time.

Draco was extremely bored. As it turned out, he was very susceptible to being bored. He had examined his body during his stay, though he didn't find much. He knew he was doing sports regularly, for his thighs and arms were well toned and firm, but his skin was a different matter. It was fine like an infant's, without so much as a scar, so he found it safe to assume that the sport wasn't too dangerous. His hands smelled faintly of herbs, and he could accurately classify what trees were planted outside of his window, so he suspected he was working with medicine, or perhaps the environment. Besides these theories, he knew nothing.

He managed to figure out how that black box, which was called a "TV", worked though, and was amazed by the moving people inside it. Then he spent three whole days watching it until the nurse forced him to turn it off. He was extraordinarily curious about this world.

It excited Draco every time he discovered new things, but he soon became restless. He hadn't seen the detective for two days and he was desperate to know more about himself. The doctor, whose name turned out to be Dean Burke, came to check on him every day, but told him that nothing had come up yet.

"How are you feeling today?" Dr. Burke came into the room, interrupting Draco's pity party.

"As usual," answered Draco dully.

The man rolled his eyes. "Come on, don't brood! Everything will be fine! The wound is healing nicely, and you could be out of the hospital in a few days!"

"Leave?" Draco raised his head sharply. "Where I am supposed to go then? You aren't sending me to some mystery institute for research like on TV, right?"

The doctor rolled his eyes again. "Don't be rediculous. We contacted the Social Work Department yesterday and they are sending a social worker to help you settle down."

"But..." Draco opened his mouth, trying to argue, but was distracted by the man who just stepped into the room at that moment.

"Find anything?"

"Recall anything?" Draco and Sam asked simultaneously. They both paused then, staring at each other, and waited.

After a few minutes, they answered in unison once more. "Sorry, no." "No."

Dr. Burke burst into laughter at the awkward spectacle.

Draco nearly screamed "Nothing at all? I thought detectives were supposed to solve mysteries. What if my parents are worried sick and die from a heart attack? I wouldn't even able to attend their funeral!" Sam suspected even the patients five rooms away could hear the man's hysterics.

The investigator blinked, and then turned to Dr. Burke in question. The latter shrugged. "He is a bit...emotional today."

"Emotional?" Draco yelled in outrage, "I am not emotional!"

"Whatever." Sam waved his hand tiredly, apparently unconcerned. "I'm just here to ask you to go to the crime scene with me, if you agree of course. Maybe you will remember something."

The doctor's lips thinned. "But he is not fully recovered."

"I'm fine. You just said the wound was healing nicely," replied Draco eagerly, intending to leave right away. He felt trapped in the hospital, and was willing to do anything to have his memory back. "I will go."

This seemed to brighten Sam up. After giving Dr. Burke a smug look, he then turned to smile at Draco with sincerity. "Thank you for your cooperation. This is greatly appreciated." He thought he kind of liked this boy, despite his eccentricity. Sure, the mystery young man was arrogant like hell, but in a strangely endearing way.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Sam suddenly announced, taking out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket and puting them on the table in front of Draco. "Here, sign your name."

Draco stared at him for a few seconds, mouth slightly open. "I lost my memory," he said to him slowly, as if to a three-year-old child. "You know, as in not remembering anything."

The detective growled. "I know. But I read a report saying that, even without one's memory, people can sometimes continue to do what they've done countless of times before. It's called...anyway, the point is, your muscle may actually remember what you've forgotten."

Draco looked at him skeptically, saying nothing. Instead, he turned to Dr. Burke, seemingly asking for advice.

"It is possible," said the doctor dryly. "Anyway, I'll leave you two on this."

"Come on, give it a shot. You have nothing to lose anyway," Sam urged.

Draco scowled. "My time, perhaps? Or hope?"

Sam glared. The boy could be so impossible!

"Fine!" Draco threw his hands in the air, scowling. "I will try, but not because you asked!" He picked up the pen, tip touching the paper, and tried.

Nothing came up for a while. Draco bit his lips, restraining the strong urge to blast the whole table away.

"This is completely insane!" he growled irritably, "I can't believe I'm actually doing this!"

"Try again," said Sam calmly.

'Okay, stay cool,' Draco told himself, as if having done that for millions of times. Then he took a deep breath, relaxed a little bit, and tried again.

For a moment, Draco thought he failed. But when he scribbled on the paper in frustration, his hand moved of its own volition.

Sam's eyes literally gleamed. "See! I told you!"

It actually worked. Draco was so shocked that he didn't even react to the smug grin on the detective. He squinted at the paper, studying the handwriting.

"What's your name then?" asked Sam expectantly.

Draco hesitated. "Um...I'm not sure," he said, "I can't really recognize it."

"You're not sure?" Sam frowned, taking the paper from Draco. "Let me see." He examined it for a few seconds and then concluded, "Seems like D...something Malory, or Melville, or Milton. Hmmm…."

Draco made a face. "Yeah, you're very helpful."

Sam ignored him. "Anyway, I'll check the names with abbreviations as DM in the system later. Now get ready. We are going to the crime scene."

Just at that moment, someone knocked on the door. The knock was soon followed by a man stepping into the room, holding a file. He scanned the picture in his hand, and then looked at Draco. "Um...excuse me?" he said, "My name is Harry Evans. I'm from the Social Work Department. I've talked with Dr. Burke before regarding your situation, and I'm here to help you out. Nice to meet you."

He stretched forth his hand, which Draco immediately took. The scene stirred some strange emotion inside him. But Draco didn't take it to mind.

"Oh," said the blond, a little surprised. "You're here already? But I haven't checked out of the hospital yet."

"I'm just here to discuss a few things with you for preparation - if you feel okay, that is."

Draco glanced at Sam, who shrugged. "I'm heading to the crime scene right now. Come back tomorrow, please."

The commanding manner of his request made Sam roll his eyes, but it seemed to amuse Harry.

"Alright," Harry smiled, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

He walked to the door, and then stopped, turning around. "Oh, one more thing. How should I address you?"

"DM," answered Draco firmly. "Call me DM."

The visit to the crime scene turned out to be a disappointment. Draco found nothing even remotely familiar.

The murder happened in a dark alley near a commercial district. It was early, only five o'clock, with only a few vagrants and prostitutes wandering around, yet there was no witness. The victim's name was Jack Harrington. He was supposed to meet a client that morning and went to the office early to prepare for the meeting. His suitcase was intact. His £5,000 pounds watch remained completely intact on his wrist, as well as the money and credit cards in his wallet. Apparently it was not a homicidal robbery.

The surveillance camera of an ATM across the street obtained an image of the victim going into the alley. Something appeared to have caught his attention, for he was suddenly running towards it. There was no sign of Draco or the killer ever entering the alleyway as well. But the alley had two ends, so that factor held little importance.

"Seems like the target of the killer was actually me, and this poor guy just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." said Draco dryly.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's our theory as well." He pointed at the holes with markings nearby them, signaling Draco to come closer. "We found five bullets: two in the wall, two in the ground, and even one outside of the alley. The shooter was clearly not experienced. The gun was most likely bought in the black market. No record, paid by cash. Can't trace it."

Draco was a bit lost. He didn't exactly understand what Sam had said, but decided not to show his confusion. Examining his surroundings more closely, he noticed that the scene had not been well preserved. The investigators obviously had already collected the evidence.

"Was there anything unusual found here?" he asked distractedly.

"Why?" queried Sam immediately, suddenly interested.

Draco shrugged. "Nothing - just a feeling. But judging by your reaction, I suppose you did find something."

"Actually, I was wondering whether you would ask." Sam took a transparent bag out of his pocket, gazing at Draco intensely. "We found this, a broken, wooden stick."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I would be thrilled to have my dear Draco in my possession. But unfortunately, JK Rowling owns everything.

A billion thanks to my lovely beta Blissfulnightmare , the piece wouldn't be done without you!

Chapter 3 Moving In

He stared at the wooden stick, blood rushing to his head. The whole world seemed to fall silent the moment his eyes fell upon it, leaving only his heart thumping wildly near his ears.

This, no matter what it was, definitely belonged to him, Draco thought. It didn't just belong to him - it called to him, and he, likewise, felt drawn to it. To see this precious object of his smashed and battered drowned him in an unbearable mixture of emotions. Even as remorse washed over him, he was thusly incensed, and suffocated in his own shock. Despite this, he schooled himself, showing nothing but partially trembling lips. Frankly speaking, he was quite amazed with his level of self control, and suspected he had practiced this his whole life.

Draco reached out, pretending to have a better look. He touched the stick through the bag, restraining the impulse to hold it in his fingers.

"I think," he lied seriously after a few minutes, not knowing how correct he actually was. "I was a wizard!"

Sam smacked him on his arm.

"Hey!" cried Draco indignantly. "That hurt!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." said Sam dismissively. "You got something or not?"

"No," said Draco, acting casually. "A wooden stick? Really? It was probably just a part of a toy or something."

Sam shook his head firmly. "No, we checked. There is no product similar to this. And you know what's weird about this stick?" He lifted the bag to Draco's face. "There's a strand of animal hair in it, of which we can't find any information on."

"Ah..." Draco drawled, silently panicking. He had no idea what the stick was, but had an intuition that it was very important, to him especially. "An inexistent creature! This is definitely getting more interesting."

Sam narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you sure you can't recall anything? Because it was the only thing that was left here besides the bullets, the body, and you."

"I thought you found the suitcase." Draco pointed out.

Sam glared.

"Okay, okay." Draco held up his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry. I know you need clues, and I hope I can help. In fact, I think I want to get my memory back more than anyone else. But I really don't remember." He sighed, left hand in his hair. "I'm sorry."

The frustration in Draco's voice made Sam paused. "All right," he said at last. "Don't worry; it's going to be all right. And I'm sorry for pushing you."

Draco nodded, turning around. "I think Dr. Burke might be right: I'm tired. I'm getting out of here."

Sam stared after him. He couldn't really tell whether Draco was telling the truth, but he certainly was not going to risk it.

Harry came back to the hospital the next day, and found Draco seemingly lost in deep thought. Or he was just staring blankly at the palm of his hand.

"Er...DM?" Harry hesitated, not sure whether to interrupt Draco or not. "Are you okay?" The blond didn't appear to have heard him though. So Harry called him again, louder this time.

Draco raised his head sharply. He blinked, not recognizing Harry at first. But realization soon hit him.

"Oh, hi!" he said hurriedly, getting off the bed. "How are you doing, er…,"

"Harry." Harry offered, "And I'm good."

Draco nodded. "Right, sorry."

"It's okay."

Awkward silence ensued, looming over the two. Draco thought he might be a social freak, before Harry clapped his hands, seemingly delighted. "So, when will you check out of the hospital?" he asked.

Draco shrugged, relieved that someone finally started talking. "In two or three days, I guess. You have some place for me to stay?"

"Yeah!" Harry confirmed. "Actually, you are staying with me."

Draco was taken aback. "Huh? Was there a sudden gust of wind that I mysteriously misconstrued for your words? Or did I just hear you asking me to live with you, in the same house?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. There was no wind, and you heard me correctly."

"But why should I live with you?" Draco crossed his arms. "Aren't you supposed to book me a hotel room until I get my memory back?"

"Yeah, because you're a missing royal who needs free servants." Harry said sarcastically.

Draco's eyes widened. "Oh my God, you might be right! How could I not have thought of that?"

"Because you aren't!" Harry snapped. "And it's my place or no place, your choice."

Draco glared. Harry countered with a glare of his own.

After what felt like an eternity, Draco reluctantly surrendered. He might be a jerk, but he was certainly not stupid. "Okay, you win," he smirked. "I feel extremely generous today, so I will grace you with my presence in your abode. You can go celebrate now."

Harry tightened his fist, preventing himself from punching the git in spite of being amused. He hadn't seen Draco like this for a long time, and he sort of missed it in some twisted way.

"Thank you for your kindness, your honor." Harry mocked playfully, hiding his smile.

Draco nodded. 'I like this guy,' he decided.

Harry lived in a medium sized apartment in the center of London. There was a living room, two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and one bathroom. It wasn't his real home, though, as the latter was actually the old headquarters of The Order, but for Draco only. If Harry really thought about it, it was almost as if he and Draco were having a secret place of their own.

The fact that he and Draco were going to live together didn't bother him at all, for he understood that it was just a cover-up. However, what did bother him was the fact that he had spent a lot of time decorating the place. He'd painted the walls all by himself, without magic. He had also bought a lovely bed with golden sheets and a crimson comforter, as well as a luxurious, forest green bed with a silver comforter. It had certainly taken him a lot of time if he had anything to say about it. He even bought a computer, and he had never used one in his entire life. He had no idea why he was doing this, but it made him happy.

Harry was a bit nervous the day Draco moved in. His heart quickened and his palms sweated. It was completely stupid since the apartment was not even his, but he felt so anyway.

"So" he took a deep breath and asked, "What do you think?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. He wandered from room to room with an air of pure indulgence.

"Lovely maid room," he said at last. "But I prefer to see the main room first."

Harry almost choked on his own saliva. This was unbelievable! "It is the main room!" he said through gritted teeth.

Draco blinked. "Oh!" he said. There was a pause, then he said it again. "Oh."

Harry was speechless.

Draco felt extraordinarily awkward. This place was far too small for two grown-ups in his opinion. Truth is, he and 'small room' should never appear in the same sentence! But again, life was a bitch, and he had nowhere else to go. Despite what he said, he was truly grateful for what Harry offered him. The black hair boy didn't have to, after all.

"So...which room is mine?" asked Draco calmly.

If Harry was surprised, he didn't show it. "Er..." He hesitated, not sure whether he should just let Draco choose. Was that a little weird, having the guest choose their own room?

Unfortunately, Draco took it all wrong, and froze immediately. "Oh my God!" he cried, panic in his eyes, "I don't even have a room? I'm not sleeping in the same bed with you!"

If Harry were drinking, he would have choked to death.

"What? No!" Harry squeaked, horrified. His eyes grew as wide as eggs."Of course you have a room! What kind of host you think I am?" he said defensively.

Draco smiled in satisfaction. "All right, I want the green room then."

It had only been a few days, and Harry was already exhausted. Even when he first came into the wizarding world, Harry didn't think he had been as curious as Draco Malfoy, who hadn't stopped asking questions the whole day.

"Oh! Another box. You seem to awfully like boxes, Harry." the blond pointed at the micro-wave oven in the kitchen, fingers under his chin.

"Er..., " said Harry, delicately, "It's not a box. It's a micro-wave oven, for heating food."

"Really?" said Draco in surprise. "How?"

Harry pressed the botton.

Draco looked at him in disbelieve. "That's it? But there isn't a fire in it!"

Harry winced. He didn't exactly know how to explain himself. "Um...there is microwave..."

"What wave?"

"Er..."

"All right." Draco patted his shoulder, reassuring. "No need to feel ashamed. You can tell me you don't know."

Harry so needed to lie down.

However, God was certainly not with him: he had to leave to see Hermione.

"I'm exhausted." Harry declaimed tiredly the moment he stepped out of the fire.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You are such a baby." she said. "How is everything?"

"He's like a child!" sighed Harry, exasperated, collapsing on the coach in resignation. Then he thought again. 'Well, he actually was a child from a point of view.'

"Do you think he really lost his memory?" asked Hermione after offering Harry a cup of tea and settling herself beside him.

Harry considered it for a minute. "I followed him to the crime scene the other day," he said, "The detective showed him his broken wand."

"How'd he react?"

"It definitely affected him, though he hid it well." Harry answered. The image of Draco's trembling lips flashed through his mind's eye. "He knew the wand meant a lot to him, but he didn't tell the detective anything."

Hermione frowned. "You're sure?"

"I'm certain about it."

Hermione looked at her best friend. She didn't know how Harry could be so sure. Draco Malfoy was very hard to read, especially after his parents' death. His face barely betrayed a thing no matter the circumstances. Death, torture, and pain were like dust on dirt in his eyes. Truth be told, Hermione sometimes suspected he had lost all emotion. But then again, Harry always seemed to understand him more than anyone else possibly could.

"Do you know why?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not really, but I have a theory."

Hermione waited, but Harry seemed to have no intention to continue. "How about you?" he asked instead, "Anything new in Draco's notes?"

Knowing she wouldn't get anything out of him right now, Hermione didn't push Harry. She stood up, and went into her study, leaving Harry alone in the sitting room. A minute later, she came back with a black notebook in her hand.

"I went through his notebook three times already," she sighed in frustration. "It's just diary entries with some potion notes here and there. And I checked them all. They're all ordinary potions, not even a tiny bit abnormal or suspicious."

"Really?" Harry was truly surprised, because Hermione always found something. She was the most cunning person he had ever met! "But why did he have potion notes in his diary?"

"I also found it weird at first," answered the girl. "But then I found his old diary, back to when he was twelve years old. He did it then as well. So I suppose it might just be a habit of his."

"Hum..." said Harry, contemplating. "I didn't think of Draco Malfoy as the kind of person who'd write in a diary."

Hermione smiled sadly, "Me neither. But then again, I never knew him well."

There was a short silence, then something suddenly occurred to Hermione. "Wait a minute," she cried, "One of his diaries did get my attention when I was reading, but I dismissed it, as it's far from possible. But now that I think about it, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, and he is far from giving in to the impossible."

"What was it?" asked Harry immediately.

"He mentioned reading something in a book," answered Hermione excitedly, "Something about ginkgo leaf."

"Which means?" Harry prompted, frowning in confusion. He had never been good at potions.

Hermione's eyes glinted, too excited to even lecture Harry with her usual speech. She leaned towards Harry, lowering her voice to nearly a whisper. "There is a myth," she breathed, "It's said that if used wisely, a ginkgo leaf can make one immortal."

It was pouring, and Draco hated the rain. It made his shoes wet and clothes soaked, which meant he was in a terrible mood. He went into the bathroom, then took off the dirty clothes, and stepped into the shower, allowing the water to pound into his muscles. The heavy steam enveloped him and blurred his vision, but the warm liquid relieved his stress, clearing his mind as he thought about the events that had occurred thus far.

As said many times already, Draco didn't remember anything. However, like everyone else, he had his own pattern of behavior. It was like solving a puzzle. And from the days he interacted with others, he vaguely got a glimpse of himself. Among which, he found himself innately untrusting of those around him.

Maybe that's why Draco didn't tell Sam he recognized the broken stick, or at least felt that it was familiar, although he wasn't sure exactly why. There seemed to be a clear line between him and other people- Sam, Dr. Burke, the nurses - all of them. He felt extremely misplaced, like he didn't belong with them, or belong here.

But Harry, Harry was different. He instinctively liked the guy. His black, messy hair and deep green eyes made his heart leap. If Draco didn't know better, he would almost say he fell in love with the boy at first sight, yet the feeling was different somehow. It was a mixture of excitement and relief, like one had just found a long-lost family member.

However, this fondness didn't impede his nature of being cautious. He knew Harry was not telling the truth. He didn't believe the whole story of Harry being a social worker who simply had a bleeding heart for even a moment. The apartment was awfully new, too new for one who claimed to have shared the place with a friend a while back. Draco couldn't understand why Harry was helping him - or maybe he wasn't; the other boy was definitely approaching him on purpose.

That was why he decided to follow Harry when the latter stated he was going to work. Draco soon found out another fact about himself. He was a born spy.

He knew how to keep his speed, how to cover his tracks, how to change his appearance with the least amount of resources, and how to maintain a low profile.1 He moved rapidly and acted accordingly, hiding masterfully when Harry happened to glance over. In fact, when he came to think about it, these couldn't possibly be natural skills. He was definitely trained before. The question was why.

It had been a shock for him, but if Draco thought it was going to be the only surprise for that day, he was sorely mistaken.

Before he could ponder the meaning behind his newly-found skills, something unexpected happened. Harry turned sharply around a corner into an ally. Draco waited for a few minutes to keep the distance before following him in. However, when he furtively poked his head into the ally, Harry was nowhere in sight.

1 Because he's following someone, he shouldn't want any attention at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I would be thrilled to have my dear Draco in my possession. But unfortunately, JK Rowling owns everything.

A billion thanks to my lovely beta Blissfulnightmare , the piece wouldn't be done without you!

Chapter 4 Bad News

Draco's jaw almost dropped, not believing his own eyes. How could Harry have disappeared? It was a dead end for God's sake! Calming himself, he began to rationalize.

'Is there a secret passage?' Draco mused. He quickly scanned the alley and the buildings nearby, but found nothing out of place, nor anything seemingly suspicious. There wasn't even a surveillance camera around. Draco found it hard to believe a place like this would harbor such a thing.

However, Draco, being Draco, was well known for being cautious during the war. He stepped into the alley carefully, always keeping an eye out in case something happened, and meticulously searched the walls inch by inch. He was a bit lost at first, not sure what to do, but soon picked up what he had learned on the TV. However, the walls were dead solid. No matter how hard Draco knocked, or how many times he pressed the suspicious button-like brick, no entranceway revealed itself to him. After nearly an hour, it started to rain. It began as a light sprinkle at first, until the sky seemed to have grown a twisted sense of humor and poured bucketfuls of its torrential water on the vicinity, leaving Draco no other choice but to give up."I will find out what you're up to, Harry." Draco whispered determinedly to himself, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. He looked at the reflection in the mirror and smiled. The trip was not in vain. Though he didn't know where Harry had gone, one thing was clear- he was definitely not going to work.

"What?" Harry was dumbfounded by the turn of the story. "You don't think Draco is trying to be immortal, do you?"

Hermione shot him a stern look. "Of course not! What normal person would want immortality?"

"Voldemort did." Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, like he had ever been normal." Hermione waved her hand in dismissal. "The point is, he might intend to use it for a similar function, of which I have yet to find out. But I will."

Harry was reassured. If Hermione said she would, she certainly would.

They chatted about some other things after that for a short while, but since Hermione was too eager to get to work to focus on the conversation, Harry decided to send her away to her studies.

"Are you sure you will be fine alone?" Hermione asked, unsure, if not apologetically, "I don't want you to think I'm neglecting you."

Harry smiled, suddenly feeling warm inside. He was not seventeen anymore. He was an Auror - a very good one in fact, to put it modestly. He had, after all, killed the most powerful wizard in Britain. Yet Hermione still acted like he was a lonely child. It had been annoying at first, but Harry knew now how few people really cared for him, and of how priceless they truly were.

"Did I just know you yesterday?" He asked fondly, "Of course not! Now go, I can do with some rest myself. It had been a long day –if not several- with Draco."

Hermione hesitated, but the undying desire for knowledge finally won out. "All right," she said, "I'll just go check some books. Call me if you need me, okay?"

Harry nodded, closing his eyes. He didn't lie to Hermione. The days with Draco were indeed exhausting. He wouldn't admit it if someone asked him, but Harry was nervous around Draco. He was so afraid he might do something wrong and Draco would just crack, even though he knew better than anyone that the blond was nowhere near fragile.

He sighed and relaxed on the sofa, planning to take a nap. He was incredibly tired. He would just...

The nap turned into several hours. When Harry awoke, it was six o'clock in the afternoon.

"Oh my God!" Harry leapt off of the couch, desperately looking for his coat. "Where's my coat? Where is it? Oh, there, got you. Good! I've got to go!" He rushed to the fireplace - almost tripping over a stupid coffee table in the process - and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the flames. "See you later Hermione!" Harry shouted behind him, stepping inside. He vaguely heard Hermione "Hum?", but the green flames soon swallowed him away.

'I can't believe I left Draco alone for an entire bloody day!' Harry screamed at himself within his mind. What if he goes missing again? It would be all my fault - again!

Lucky for him, when he came back to his apartment, Draco was sleeping on the couch in the living room, safe and sound.

Harry nearly choked with relief, then suddenly remembered that he had actually put an alarming spell on the blond, which would inform him immediately if Draco was in any kind of danger.

"I was such an idiot!" Harry sighed heavily, still panting. He stared at Draco's face - serene and relaxed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Harry hadn't seen him look so peaceful in years, or ever had, for what mattered. He had been so eager to bring back Draco's memory, but now, Harry was not so sure.

"I really need to ease my nerves." Harry rubbed his eyes. He lingered there for a while longer, then quietly headed towards his room. He would take a nice, long shower, and tomorrow, tomorrow he would be fine.

He didn't see that, behind him, Draco had opened his eyes.

The next day turned out to be not as pleasant as Harry had hoped, because the Daily Prophet arrived with double pages, which, from Harry's personal experiences, was never a good sign.

"Dark Times Return!" said the newspaper in bold letters, "Revenge from the dark force, or just a normal case? Vincent Crabbe, former spy of the war, son of Crabbe Sr., was found murdered in his own house last night. Reliable sources state that he was killed by Avada Kedavra..."

The article was tremendously long, so Harry didn't bother finishing it - he was also too shocked and furious to continue. Within the next minute, he was in the minister's office, storming his way to the Minister of Magic.

"Why in God's name was I not informed of this?" Harry threw the newspaper on the minister's desk. "I am the head Auror for Merlin's sake!"

Kingsley, who had been selected as the new Minister of Magic after the war, didn't even look up. "Calm down, Harry. This is my office, not a market."

"Calm down?" Harry cried, hands in the air. "I have to read the bloody newspaper to know what should be taken care of by my own bloody department? I'm not calming down!"

Kingsley sighed, finally raising his head from the reams of paper. "Fine, I guess I have nowhere to run then. Sit down, Harry, please."

"Why had no one called me?" returned Harry defensively, not sitting down at all.

"I told them not to," answered the minister calmly.

"And why is that?"

"Because I need you to focus on Draco's case." said Kingsley, "I don't want you to get distracted."

This, thought Harry, was absolutely ridiculous. In fact, he could barely believe his own ears. If not for the minister's office being protected by numerous wards, some of which were placed by Harry himself, Harry would have thought someone had polyjuiced the man.

"But Crabbe was Draco's friend! There is certainly a link between the two cases," he said, rather convinced.

"You don't know that yet," said Kingsley in a stern voice as his face hardened. "Merlin bless us all that the two events are not related."

There was silence for a moment, and Harry frowned. "Okay," he crossed his arms, "now you're losing me."

Kingsley sighed again, looking suddenly older than usual. Harry noticed he was organizing the papers he was working on - like he always did when he was uncomfortable.

"It is a bit complicated. Sit down Harry, you will need it."

Harry hesitated, but did as the minister bid at last. He had a very bad feeling about this.

"Now, I guess you're wondering why I'm so concerned about Draco's case," began the minister, "He had almost disappeared from society since the war. So why the kidnap, and why now?"

Harry nodded.

Kingsley stood up, as if he couldn't bear looking into Harry's eyes. He stared out of the window and continued, "The fact is, Draco Malfoy is not as many suppose he is. He was not isolating himself from the community because he was depressed, but simply to keep his profile low, so as not to draw unwanted attention to what he was doing."

"And what exactly he was doing?" asked Harry.

"He was working on a project for the ministry," replied Kinsley matter-of-factly, "a spell, to be precise, to convert the Avada Kedavra."

To say that Pansy Parkinson was not happy would be a major understatement. Her friends were in danger, including herself. She had been worried sick about Draco, who had gone missing for more than a month. Those incompetent Aurors didn't offer any information about their investigation. If she didn't know better, she would think they weren't even searching for Draco at all!

She suspected though, that there might be a conspiracy within the ministry, because of Draco's strange withdrawal since the war ended, and Harry Potter's abnormal concern about him. Draco was, or at least Pansy thought he was, her best friend, and she understood him more than anyone else. He had never been the kind of person who cut himself off from others. Keeping to himself, most definitely, but never isolating.

The whole thing was very bizarre to her. When Draco nearly stopped talking to any of his former friends, which he hadn't even done during the war, she tried to confront him about it. She tried again and again and again, but Draco was extremely tight-lipped: he refused to let anything slip.

Being a Slytherin head to toes, Pansy decided to leave Draco alone for the moment. Conservation, after all, was the most important thing to them. And Pansy sensed danger. Whatever Draco was doing, it was dangerous, and it was affecting them all now. The death of Crabbe couldn't just be coincidence, not after Draco's disappearance.

But again, being a Slytherin through and through, nothing could stop Pansy from exploring the secrets for future benefit. And Slytherins stuck together.

"Blaise!" shouted Pansy through the fire, "Have you read the newspaper? Come to my place immediately!"

A few minutes later, Blaise rushed out of the hearth frantically with the Daily Prophet in his hand, still in his pajamas. "Bloody hell! How could this have happened?" he exclaimed, "I can't believe Crabbe is dead!"

Pansy rolled her eyes, "Hold yourself, Blaise. You're acting like a ten year old girl."

"Except Crabbe is dead."

Neither of the two spoke for a while. A bit dull, Crabbe might have been, but he was a friend, a Slytherin, and someone who had always been loyal to Draco, who had risked his life for them.

"Do you think it has something to do with Draco?" asked Blaise finally, hands balled into fists.

"And you have to ask?" returned Pansy impatiently.

Blaise took a deep breath. He paused, almost fearing to open his mouth. It was a question that should not be asked. "Then..." he began with difficulty, "is Draco...is he...?"

"Don't you dare say it!" screeched Pansy before Blaise could finish, firmly grabbing the young man by the collar of his pajamas. "Nothing will happen to him! He's safe!"

She was crying, perhaps not outwardly, not with tears or a red nose, but Blaise knew she was crying – on the inside. "I was just asking whether Draco was found," he said quietly.

It was lame, but Pansy said nothing. She blinked, loosening her grasp. "Right," she whispered, then said it again, "right."

The air pressed against Blaise's chest like solid granite, crushing the breath from his lungs. He wanted to hold Pansy - he desperately needed a hug right now -, yet he stopped himself, and coughed instead. "I...I managed to acquire something from Draco's house elf."

"What is it?" Pansy's head snapped up.

"It seemed Draco was making some kind of potion," answered Blaise.

"But Draco is always making potions."

"It's different," explained Blaise. "He went to the Ackerman's very often in the last few months before he went missing."

The infamous Ackerman's, who sold potion ingredients only by order, did business strictly face-to-face. Rumors, or the facts, for what it's worth, state that almost everything coming out of his shop was against the law. However, he was very discreet and thorough, leaving little to no evidence for the Aurors to find.

Pansy frowned, "Are you suggesting Draco was making something illegal?" She pondered over it, and added, "Not that it matters, but are you sure? Last time I checked, Daisy's lips were as sealed as a Gringotts' safe."

"I have my charm," replied Blaise dryly.

Pansy stared incredulously at him.

"What?" said Blaise defensively, "It's not a crime."

"Yeah, of course it isn't," Pansy murmured, "Did she tell you what he was making?"

"No, she doesn't know. Draco hid it very well. No matter what it is, it's important."

"Well...in that case," Pansy smiled sweetly, making Blaise's skin crawl, "a visit to Mr. Ackerman will be scheduled then."


End file.
